


i'm poison, baby

by mamalovesherbagels



Series: Chimney Whump Central [11]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: ANYWAY warnings, All the warnings, Maddie is only mentioned, Mentions of Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts, basically this is depressing as shit, discussion of eating disordered behavior, discussion of miscarriage too, if i cave and write a second part she'll be in it for real, oh I forgot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:41:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25656841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mamalovesherbagels/pseuds/mamalovesherbagels
Summary: He's drunk and he shouldn't be telling Hen this, shouldn't be telling her any of it. But he's sitting there and so is she and it's all just spilling out of him. The story of his first love and its tragic ending.
Series: Chimney Whump Central [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726990
Kudos: 16





	i'm poison, baby

.

“Betty?” Hen asks, looking confused and concerned and everywhere in between, “who’s Betty? You’ve never mentioned that name to me before.”

And it’s true, he hasn’t. He hasn’t ever mentioned her to anyone other than the Lees, and one of them had already taken that secret to the grave.

Funny, that’s how they landed on that topic.

“Why do I always hurt the people I love?” he had said, on his fifth beer of the night, not that Hen was counting or anything, “Betty, my mom, Kevin…”

He’s silent for a moment, a single tear sleeping down his cheek.

“Chim? Who’s Betty?”

“My girlfriend from high school,” he sighs, a lost, unfocused look in his eye, “she died, too.”

.

Betty is seventeen, a month shy of eighteen, and she’s quite possibly the prettiest girl that Howie has ever seen. Her full name is Elizabeth, Elizabeth Hannah Stadler, but girls like her don’t go by names like “Elizabeth.” Her hair is a muddy blonde color and her eyes look like honey. There are freckles on her nose that he’s only gotten up close enough to see a handful of times, most of which have been accidents in crowded high school hallways.

He’s sixteen when he meets her really, fully, for the first time. She’s not in her cheerleading uniform, is his first thought. He supposes he shouldn't be surprised, because why would she be?

They _are_ at a teen depression support group, aren’t they?

He doesn’t want to be here, and from the looks of it, neither does she. But she seems to recognize him, at least, either that or he’s just imagining the flash of recognition on her face.

He’s being forced to be here by Mr. and Mrs. Lee because he downed a bottle of sleeping meds. He wonders if she’s there for similar reasons.

It confuses him, because she’s pretty and talented and smart; she gets the best grades and she’s a senior, but it’s not her first year as captain of the cheerleading squad. She’s got everything going for her. Last he heard, she has both an academic scholarship from one college and a cheerleading scholarship from another to choose from.

But, he supposes, life is cruel. He knows this, that’s why he wanted to leave it. Maybe people with nice lives on the outside are broken, too.

He hardly says a word throughout the whole session, and he practically sprints out toward his car the second they’re allowed to leave.

“Hey,” Betty shouts, yanking on her arm, and how the hell did she catch up to him?

“...Yes?” he asks, beyond startled and also just astounded that yes, she actually is talking to _him_.

“You didn’t see me here, got it?”

“Got it,” he nods.

“And you know…” she sighs, pouting at him just a little bit and my god, he’s already in love, “if you keep my secrets-- which you will-- I’ll keep yours. You should talk next week.”

.

He does. Not about his mom or any of that heavier stuff he keeps locked away inside of him, but about feeling aimless and stuck and as if his whole life is in a fog. He admits that he wants to feel better most days, but that some days, he just doesn’t. 

Betty yanks on his arm again in the parking lot.

“You get it,” she murmurs, staring at him as if the sun shines through his face.

“I get what…?” he asks, confused, but thrilled that she’s talking to him.

“You just… you get it. No one else gets it, outside of the group. But you actually… you got my school, you’re closeby, and you just… get it. So thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies, though he’s still not 100% certain he understands what she means.

She hugs him, though, and her perfume smells like the flowers his mom used to plant in their garden.

.

Betty starts talking to him in the hallways, in public, at school, in front of actual people that they know and it feels exhilarating.

For years, ever since his mom died, he’s felt invisible. But with Betty, but with the way she grabs his arm, but with the way the other students look at him in surprised awe because someone like him actually has the head cheerleader’s attention? He finally feels seen.

Kevin winks at him from across their history classroom, raising his eyebrows and he knows his brother has seen him with her.

It feels good and bad and reckless and right and forbidden all at once.

.

He knows Betty is sad, too. Otherwise she wouldn’t be in that group with them, wouldn’t sometimes burst into tears as she recounts the way she used to feel special, but now she feels like nothing she ever does is good enough. The grades, the athletic talent, the beauty? None of it is ever good enough for her parents, or for the critic in her head.

He doesn’t miss the way she often pushes around the food on her plate when he’s eating at her house (he’s only there when her parents are gone, of course, but that’s more often than he thinks is right). He also doesn’t miss the way she maybe likes taking drinks from her dad’s rum bottle a little too much.

It’s hard to call her on it, though. He’s tried a few times, but it just ends in shouting and crying, both from her. He just stares at her sadly and gives up. You can’t force someone to get help, right? And she’s already getting some help. She’s in the stupid group with him.

He’s sitting on the couch with her feet in his lap as they watch some stupid soap opera re-run at an ungodly hour of the night while her parents are on some trip or something. He’s long wanted to go to bed, but Betty says she’s not tired, never says she’s not tired, and she’s pouted at him every time he’s suggested going up to sleep.

His eyes are starting to close despite his best efforts around 3:30 am when all the sudden he feels movement, and then warmth.

She’s sitting on his lap now, one leg around each side of his waist.

“Don’t fall asleep,” she says, and uh, he thinks his heart is beating a little too fast for that now.

“O-okay,” he stammers.

“You’re so cute, so cute and so sweet,” she murmurs, bringing her lips to his neck before trailing kisses up toward his left ear, “so, so very sweet. Don’t you want to do what they do on all these stupid shows we watch together with me?”

“I… um…” he’s speechless, quite literally speechless as her lips move to his, her fingers to the top button of his shirt.

“It’s okay, I want to.”

Well, he kinda wants to, too.

.

They fall into a rhythm. They’re just friends at school, and they have sex on her couch whenever her parents are away.

It’s nice, _beyond_ nice, but sometimes the sex almost feels like a bargaining chip. Like she’s trying to get away with being close to him while also pushing him away at the same time.

That’s probably in his head, he thinks. 

(But there’s a nagging feeling that it’s not.)

They use condoms, but he’s never exactly been known for doing things right.

She doesn’t even know she’s pregnant when the blood smatters down her legs, right down from her cheerleading skirt in the middle of the school hallway.

.

She makes it two weeks after the miscarriage.

Of course her stupid fucking dad has a stupid fucking gun and it doesn’t bother to lock it away properly.

And now she’s gone.

There’s no note, but he knows it’s his fault. If he hadn’t gotten her pregnant, if he had _realized_ she was pregnant, if he had actually helped her, if he had pushed her harder to talk to him… he could have done something. He should’ve done something. And now she’s gone.

“Was the baby yours?” Kevin asks, and he really shouldn’t be surprised that the rumor mill had taken and ran with it the way the blood had run down her legs.

“Yeah,” he nods, squeezing his eyes shut tight, “yeah, the baby was mine.”

.

Hen is asking him a million questions, but he feels numb. He’s drunk and sad and sick with guilt and staring at the wall.

“Chimney? Chimney?”

Each time she calls his name, it sounds more and more desperate. Finally, she claps her hands in front of his face to get his attention.

“Chimney, honey, why didn’t you ever tell me? And… I’m glad you are now, but why? Why now?”

“Maddie is pregnant,” he mumbles, “it’s her first kid, but it’s not mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS TERRIBLE AND SAD AND I'M SORRY


End file.
